Читать книгу Eden - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 8

Eden, The Dakota Territory

February, 1890

SURELY HER OWN MOTHER had not lived such a life. Through the window of the Dogleg Saloon, Katie watched the women who roamed the smoke-filled area, seeking out men upon which to try their skills. Hair upswept, makeup all too obvious and dresses too gaudy to be believed all added to their allure.

Or so they apparently believed. “How sad.” The words were but a whisper as the young woman watched the parade of females conduct their pursuit of the cowhands who worked on outlying ranches and farms and assorted married men from the town of Eden, in the Dakota Territory. That she could ever live in such a manner was something she would never have considered during the days of summer, when the warm weather protected her slender body from the cold winds. When she did not bear the shame of a mother who had once worked in this place. Or so she’d been told by the couple who’d raised her, reviling her with a tale of a woman gone bad, bearing an illegitimate child.

She’d found that the parents she’d thought were her own, were but unkind strangers who had taken her into their home as an act of charity. And if what they had done in the name of charity were known among the townspeople, they might not be able to hold up their heads in Eden.

But a young girl would not be believed when her word was placed next to an upstanding pair who posed as ideal parents of a girl who had turned out badly. And Katie was that girl, if her foster parents were to be believed.

In that same home dwelt a second child, a younger female, the abandoned daughter of a relative of Agnes Schrader, who had been given the privilege of schooling at the town’s one-room schoolhouse. But Katie was not so fortunate, for with a background so filled with disgrace and shame, she wasn’t considered worth the trouble to educate.

She had been whipped and treated as a slave for twelve years, was now approaching her eighteenth birthday, yet had done the work of a woman while still a child. Taking her courage in both hands, she’d left the farm where she’d lived in servitude and set out to find shelter. Shelter for a weary body and sanctuary for a mind confused by the perils life had dealt her. Most of them derived from the man who had become a threat to her on another level over the past weeks, for Jacob Schrader had attempted to crawl beneath her quilt on three occasions. She feared him more than she had thought possible.

Tonight, his words of sly entreaty had brought chills to her flesh, his looks of dark anger and the flashes of masculine power he’d brought to bear upon her were enough to find her running for her very life. The thought of his hands on her body was enough to force her to flee.

She’d walked for three miles, shivering in the ragged clothing she wore, wrapped in a shawl she’d taken without permission from a hook by the back door of the farmhouse, desperate for a safe place in which to hide. Any rude shelter would do, so long as it provided surcease from the north winds that promised snow, sweeping across the plains of Canada down to the fields of the Dakota Territory.

Summer had been bad enough, with long days spent in the fields, evenings in the farmhouse, where her work was never done. Now, in February, things were changed, the sun an infrequent visitor to the sky, replaced by snow clouds that threatened to spill their weight upon the surrounding countryside. The oncoming weather would be her worst enemy, unless she included that house she had just left.

She peered again into the saloon, its smoke-filled interior teeming with men seeking enjoyment, many of them half-drunk, the other half well on their way to that state. The smoke from their cigars and hand-rolled cigarettes rose to the ceiling and formed a haze guaranteed to make her cough and choke, should she linger long in its presence.

But, it seemed she might have no choice, for the saloon might indeed be the only haven available to a young woman without a job, or a place to live. Surely she could bring herself to serve drinks to men, smile at them and return their remarks. Even dance with one or two if the necessity arose, if she could but learn to sway to the music as did the other females in this place, curving their bodies closely to the men who held them.

For even now, two of the women inside the place were swaying to the raucous sounds of the piano, their chosen partners holding them close, moving between the tables in a parody of a dance. It didn’t hold a candle to the square dancing she’d seen on one never-to-be-forgotten evening, when she’d slipped away and observed couples dancing at the Grange Hall in Mason’s Creek, just two miles from the Schrader farm.

But then, those dances were attended by a different breed of men and women, and the dancing was a far cry from the suggestive gyrations that were taking place in the Dogleg Saloon this night.

The swinging door was pushed open and a drunken cowhand staggered out, his hat cockeyed upon his head, his shirttail free of his trousers, and bearing a disreputable appearance. His bleary eyes scanned the wooden sidewalk and he staggered to where an upright post provided a spot for him to halt, leaning his weight against it as he looked over the assortment of horses that lined the hitching rail.

Katie moved back a bit, into the shadows, lest he see her. But the motion of her feet apparently caught his eye for he lifted his head and turned his gaze in her direction.

“Well, looky here,” he muttered, attempting to move from his leaning post, his body not cooperating with his aim, as he began to move toward her. “You lookin’ for a man, sweetie?” His laugh was harsh, a raw sound that pierced her ears, and she turned from his reaching hands.

There was nowhere to go, for she was caught against the outer wall. As his dirty hand touched her arm, she stiffened, then spun in place and almost fell against the swinging door.

It gave way obligingly with her weight and she was inside the saloon. The door swung behind her, its weight nudging her farther into the room, and she cast a quick look around, seeking she knew not what. Perhaps a friendly face.

Of those there were a handful, most of them whiskered, several of them belonging to men who sat alone at tables meant for three or four. One rose, taking a step closer to her, his hands outstretched to touch her and she twitched to one side, lest his grimy hands leave their stain on her person.

“What’s the matter, honey? Ain’t I purty enough for you?” His drunken drawl brought a shudder of dread to her slender form, and she sidestepped away from him, only to brush against another man.

A long arm circled her waist and she was drawn close to another table. The man who held her sat on a chair, his hat tilted back, his head tipped upward as he took a survey of her form. His gaze rested for a long moment on the dark bruises apparent on her arms and face.

“You don’t belong in here,” he said, his words low and to the point. “Does your mother know you’re out on the town?” His lips twisted, lifting one corner of his mouth, as if he were unused to smiling and this was his best attempt.

“My mother?” Katie shook her head, fear touching her with chilly tendrils that brought gooseflesh to her arms. The man was another sort entirely than the two she’d already encountered in the past few minutes; his features were more finely sculpted, his hand at her waist was clean, and he wore dark clothing, with a holster against his leg.

Yet Katie exerted her strength against him, fearful of his hand trespassing beyond the place it had chosen to rest. But he would not relax his hold and she looked down at him, her tongue dampening sudden dry lips as she whispered pleading words. “Don’t touch me. Let me go…please.”

As if her polite words amused him, his mouth lifted into a genuine smile, whether his amusement was for her benefit, or he was merely entertained by her helplessness she could not discern, for she could not release herself from his hand. And he knew it. Knew that his grip was solid and firm, that she was helpless to move away from him.

“Sit down. Here.” He reached with his other hand, an awkward movement, and pulled another chair close to the one he occupied, and then pushed her onto its surface.

She blinked, aware that the attention of several other men had moved in her direction, and her head lowered quickly, not wanting to see their expressions as they evaluated the stranger in their midst. A mist appeared before her eyes and she fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Don’t be afraid,” her companion said quickly. “Lift your head and look at me. Nowhere else, just into my face.”

Surprised by the direct order, schooled to obey, she did as he told her, swallowing the bile that threatened to spill from her throat. His eyes were dark, his features harsh, but not unkind, and she felt a flare of relief as his hand left her body to grasp the cold fingers that lay in her lap.

She was obviously terrified, and John felt a jolt of sympathy as he watched the girl before him. And then he spoke, his voice stern, his words direct. “Sit up straight and act as if you’ve recognized me. The rest of them will leave you alone if they think I’m an acquaintance of yours.” He leaned back a bit in his chair, drawing her hand to his knee in a gesture he knew would send a message to the men watching. A message of familiarity, a gesture she was obviously accustomed to. She looked uncertain, as if she’d only just realized that she was the target of men’s looks, those lustful glances that were now being cast in her direction.

“I didn’t mean to come in here,” she said quietly, in an attempt to explain her abrupt entrance to the saloon.

“I didn’t think so. It’s no place for a young girl,” he agreed, reaching to scoot her chair closer to his own, loosening his grip on her hand to do so.

She retrieved her fingers and hugged them to her waist, meshing them with those of her other hand. “I’m not that young. I’m almost eighteen,” she said, speaking the word with dignity.

“Almost eighteen.” He smiled, his teeth white and even, and his face softening with the movement. “You’re a child. You don’t belong in a place like this. Where are your parents?”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t know. I take care of myself. I don’t need anyone else.”

“Well, you’ve apparently taken a wrong turn tonight, honey,” he said in a low whisper, leaning toward her a bit. “You’re shivering and you look like you haven’t had a good meal in a week. This is no place for you.”

Her glance was angry. “It’s warmer in here than out in front.”

He smiled again, in admiration for her spirit. “Well, there is that. But you’ll find there’s a price to pay for whatever warmth you find here.”

“A price?” Katie wondered at his words. Surely they wouldn’t charge her to sit in a chair and get warm, would they? And yet, from the corner of her eye, she saw the bartender giving her long looks of inquiry, as if wondering what her purpose was.

The man beside her spoke again in an undertone. “Do you need a bed for the night? They’ve got a whole hallway upstairs, lined with bedrooms. I’m sure there’d be any number of men willing to rent one for you, so long as you let them occupy it with you.” The words rolled off his tongue and settled around her ears, burning them with the threat he suggested might be her lot.

“I couldn’t sell myself, mister,” she said quickly, for she had heard of such a thing. “I just need to get warm.” And wasn’t that the truth, for her body felt like a chunk of ice in the midst of the creek in midwinter. A long shiver ran the length of her spine, and she felt the first thawing of her fingers as they knit together at her waist.

He lifted his other hand, the one not occupied with the back of her chair and one of the scantily dressed ladies approached, smiling at him, glancing with pity at Katie.

“Sadie, bring us a glass of whiskey, with lots of water.”

The woman laughed, sauntering to the bar. Then, within minutes, she reappeared with a glass containing a golden liquid and scooped up the coin the man offered in payment.

He picked it up and held it to his mouth, tasting the contents and frowning, then offered it to Katie. “Take a drink. It’ll warm you up, honey.”

She shook her head, unwilling to put the foul-smelling stuff in her mouth, and his jaw hardened and he leaned closer, offering the glass, holding it to her lips.

“Take a swallow. Don’t argue with me or give me that high-toned look, honey. When it comes to booze, I know what a swallow of it will do for a gal like you. Your stomach could use a belt, and in a few minutes your system will lap it up and you’ll generate a little heat.”

“Please—” Katie turned to look him full in the face “—I don’t want to throw up, and if I taste that, I think I will. My stomach is hurting already, and putting whiskey into it isn’t going to help any.”

His gaze narrowed on her trembling lips and he bent closer, his voice a low whisper. “Are you hungry, girl?”

She swallowed her pride and nodded, just once, but it seemed to be enough to answer his query to his satisfaction, for he shot her a look of understanding, picked up the glass and downed the contents with two swallows.

“Come on.” He lifted her bodily from the chair and walked with her, his long arm circling her waist, to the back of the saloon, flicking a quick look at the bartender as they passed that stalwart gentleman. He opened a door that stood beneath the stairway, almost hidden in the gloom.

His hand on her back gave her no choice and she kept up with his long stride, almost skipping to keep up, fearful of the contact he forced upon her, yet thankful for the warmth of his body. Beyond the open door was a kitchen, and he ushered her over the threshold, closing the wooden portal behind them.

If the temperature had been close to freezing in the bar, it was nearer to the fires of Hades here in the kitchen, she decided, shivering at the blast of warm air that the big cookstove aimed in her direction. The woman who stood before it had opened the oven, and the heat from within made her back away from its intensity, but to Katie, it was a welcome shot of comfort and she did not evade it.

In fact, she took another step closer to the huge stove, warming the front of her body and shivering in reaction. The man next to her spoke, catching her attention and that of the woman who was dealing with the food atop the cooking range.

“Hey there, Molly. Anything left from supper? This little gal’s hungry.”

Why that should make Katie bristle so, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because the man acted as though she were a child to be fed. Or maybe because he looked at her from his greater height with a look of amusement, as though she were someone to be mocked.

“I’m not starving,” Katie said defensively. “I can wait till tomorrow to eat.”

“And where will you find breakfast?” the man asked, even as the woman he’d called Molly turned from the stove to shoot her a long assessing look.

“Land sakes, John Roper. Leave that little girl alone. Quit your pickin’ at her.”

With a swift step, she approached Katie, lifting a warm hand to touch her shoulder. “Come on over here, honey. That cowboy don’t know which end is up. Just ignore him, why don’t you. I’ve got a kettle of beans and spuds here that’s probably gonna be food for the pigs by morning if I can’t push it off on some hungry soul.”

Katie caught the glimpse of tenderness the woman tried to hide, her words almost curt, but her eyes warm with another emotion entirely. It was enough to coax her from her stiff resistance, and she stepped closer to the stove, to where a kettle sat on the back burner, steam rising from its depths.

“I’d eat some beans and potatoes, ma’am,” she said quietly. “I’m probably hungrier than the pigs, anyway.” Her mouth twisted in a smile, and as if she had gained a friend, Molly grinned back, drawing Katie nearer with a quick touch on her hand. A touch Katie fought to accept, sensing that Molly meant her no harm.

“Sit yourself down, honey. I’ll fetch a bowl and fix you something to warm your belly.” And if the invitation was not couched in genteel terms, Katie found it didn’t matter, for the look of kindness Molly wore more than made up for her blunt speech.

A chair appeared from beneath the edge of the table, and the man—hadn’t Molly called him John?—stood to one side, offering her a seat. Katie took it with a nod and then thought twice about the condition of her hands.

“Ma’am? Could I bother you for a dab of soap and some water to wash my hands?” She looked toward the back of the kitchen where a sink held a pitcher pump and a large basin beneath it, and Molly nodded.

“Of course. Come on over here and I’ll fix you up. I might have known a girl like you would need to tend to herself before she sat down to eat.” The plump form bustled across the room, one rounded arm reaching for the pump handle. Ensuring that a gush of water poured into the basin, she reached beneath the sink for a container of soap.

“Here you go, honey. Not French-milled, but good old lye soap, like I use for the dishes.” Molly looked quickly at the mottled flesh on Katie’s arms and her eyes sought those of the man who watched. A barely imperceptible nod caught Katie’s eye and she felt confusion overtake her.

Her voice quavered as she recognized that she was the object of an unspoken discussion. “That’ll do just fine,” she told Molly, thankful for the freely given offer. For the first time during the long hours of this evening, she began to breathe more easily, sensing a kindred soul in her vicinity. Not that the help of the man called John had gone unappreciated, but finding another woman who offered her a bit of sustenance was a bonus she had not looked for. And Katie was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The steaming offering of green beans swimming in a thick broth laced with bits of ham and braced by the addition of three small potatoes was mouthwatering and she bent over it, inhaling the aroma as she picked up the fork Molly offered. Her mouth burned from the first bite, but she was so hungry she barely noticed, shifting the bit of potato from one side of her cheek to the other as it cooled.

“How about a glass of milk, girl?” Molly made the offer even as she poured the glass full from a pitcher in the icebox.

Katie looked up and met her gaze, basking in the friendly smile she was given as if it were her due. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll have to admit I’m a little hungry.” And then proved her words by devouring the bowlful of food as if it might be removed from her presence at any time.

“Take your time there, girl. Molly won’t rush you any,” the man told her quietly.

She looked at the man named John now, a quiet figure who watched her from dark eyes and then darted a look at Molly as if asking for direction.

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” Molly asked her, surprising her with the kind offer. “I’ve got a big bed upstairs and a spare nightgown you can use.”

Katie shivered, huddling in the chair, aware that her trembling was from a source within herself, not a result of the temperature in the room, for the stove gave off a comforting heat she was only too aware of. But the relief of finding sanctuary in this place threatened to bring quick tears to her eyes, and though she had long since abandoned tears as a form of expression, she found now that they burned just behind her eyelids.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d be pleased to take you up on your offer,” she said quietly, scraping the bottom of the bowl and eating the last morsel. A fluffy biscuit appeared on a small plate beside her bowl and a container of butter was moved close to her glass of milk, accompanied by a table knife.

Such largesse was more than she had ever expected to find here, and Katie looked up at the woman and felt a tear fall from her eye, trailing slowly down her cheek and falling to her bodice.

“Come now, girl. Don’t waste time on cryin’. Just eat up and we’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.” With a quick look at John, she gave orders swiftly. “It might be good if no one knew that the girl was here with me, John. I’ll put her to bed and lock the door so she won’t be disturbed. There’s men in there—” she nodded at the saloon just beyond the kitchen door “—who’d be tickled to get their hands on her tonight, but I’ll see to it she’s safe and sound.”

“I’d appreciate it, Molly. And I’ll be back in the morning to settle with you, and take her off your hands.”

Molly snorted. There was no other word for it, Katie decided, for the inelegant sound was a combination of laughter and disdain. “And what will you do with a bit of a girl like this, John Roper? You gonna put her in the bunkhouse out there at the ranch with those cowhands you work with?”

He shook his head, his mind working rapidly. “No, I’ll put her in the cabin the boss gave me when he made me foreman of the ranch. He said it was for a married man, but he suspected I’d be taking on a wife before long, so he said I’d might as well move into it now. He’s got four or five cabins for his married hands. There’s room for this little gal in mine.”

“And then what will you do with her?” Molly pushed the issue with a harsh look that asked his intentions. “You got marriage on your mind?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll just take care of her till she gets back on her feet. If the bruises I can see on her arms and her face are any indication of what she’s wearing under that dress, I’ll do a better job than whoever’s been looking after her.”

Molly nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but your boss is gonna be asking questions if you bring a woman there and move her in and she’s not your wife.”

John was silent for a moment and his gaze touched Katie with kindness. Then he spoke again and she knew that her future had been decided for her and she would not argue with the man, for he was far and away the best prospect for shelter she saw in her future.

“I need someone to keep things up for me, Molly. Let’s call her my new housekeeper and cook. I’ll bet she can do better on that cookstove than I can, and it’ll mean I won’t have to go to the big house for my meals if this little gal cooks for me.” He shot Katie a long look. “Can you put a meal together, girl?”

She nodded quickly. “I’ve been cookin’ and cleanin’ for a lot of years. The folks at the place I lived wasn’t much on keepin’ stuff up to par, but I learned how to cook a long time ago. I can make biscuits and bread and fix a meal from most anything.”

“You want a job working for me?” John asked bluntly. “Not much pay, but a place to hang your hat and a warm pallet in front of the stove at night, or else on my sofa. It’s not very long, but you’re not very tall, so it might work.”

“What kind of an offer is that for a young woman?” Molly asked sharply. “This girl don’t need to be in those sort of circumstances. She’ll have the folks around here talking a mile a minute about her, and you, too, John.”

“Sounds better to me than where she’s been living. And I’ll guarantee you I won’t be leaving any bruises on her like those she’s wearing tonight.” As if that were the final word on the subject, he looked directly at Katie and asked the question that would offer her a choice as to what might lie in her future.

“You interested in a job, girl? No strings attached, just cooking and cleaning and keeping my clothes up to snuff.”

Katie thought but a moment, measuring what little she knew about the man before her with the certainty of the peril that awaited her should she be returned to Jacob and Agnes Schrader. Her reply was quick, for she knew she was able to run again should this man not be as honest as he appeared.

“I’ll work for you, mister. Just give me a place to sleep and a warm spot to roost during the day. I can cook and clean all right, and I don’t need any money from you. Just food and a place to live.”